


no one is alone

by Marshmellow (orphan_account)



Series: Fraternite de ABK [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, grantaire is sad sad sad, warning for mild suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Marshmellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire leaves for a while to sort out his thoughts and finds himself too attached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no one is alone

**Author's Note:**

> title stolen from a song (of the same title) from Into The Woods because yeah.  
> Okay, I have no idea what this is. I'm sorry if it's incoherent and ugly. I tried a new style of writing and then COULDN'T STOP! So here we go.  
> All modern first names are on the series description page, but I've called most of them by last name to avoid confusion this time around.

You love him with a sort of desperate urgency, the pressure to please him suffocating and toxic. You knew it should have been enough just to live under the same roof as him, but of course that would never be enough. You fear nothing will ever be enough when it comes to him, and you’ll keep longing for him until you’re both dead. It scares you and it chills you. 

Some nights, like tonight and the night before and maybe the night before, you can’t remember, you curl up on your bed and clutch at your own arms until they’re red and your knuckles are white. Sometimes Johnny will wake up and stop you, tell you to sleep and it will be okay in the morning, sometimes he doesn’t. When he doesn’t, you never sleep. You lie there wondering why your arms never seem to hurt as much as your heart. You dig your fingers further into your skin, trying to feel something else. It never works.

Some nights, though far and few between and only when you’re a little too sober (which is always now that you’ve sobered up), you wonder what it would be like if you were to die. Or disappear, at the very least. Just up and leave the house. You want to, sometimes, because it seems like everyone would appreciate it. Combeferre certainly would approve. Johnny might shed a tear, Bahorel would miss his best gambling partner. But it would be alright, wouldn’t it? 

You know you need time alone. You itch for it. You lie in your bed, clutching your arms and rubbing your neck, longing for freedom from this house that you love so much. They’re your friends; they keep you afloat. You’ve only known how to be happy when you’re with them. But the dependency scares you. You think that maybe if you can survive on your own for just a week, you can handle it better when they leave you behind after you all graduate. Alex has told you that you need to learn independency. Alex has told you that you need to become your own person.

You love him and you can’t handle how much he doesn’t love you. 

Johnny is fast asleep when you pack a duffle bag. There’s a flower tangled in his hair, a smile on his face as he sleeps. You smile a bit, for he’s always been such a wonderful and tolerant roommate. You leave him a small note saying that you’re leaving for a while, that you’ll be back sometime and not to fret. _Johnny, I’m leaving. Be back by next week maybe. Don’t worry. -R._ You know he’ll fret anyway. Jacob will fret as well, but you’re not as worried about him since he’s _always_ fretting. 

Your arms hurt terribly, but you don’t mind. You pick up a few things from the bathroom to carry you over for a few days. It occurs to you that you’ve got no other place to stay, but the need to get out overpowers any logic. You look to Alex and Combeferre’s door, smiling sadly. You love him, you know, you’ve accepted that long ago. You don’t think he understands, he’ll never understand. He’s about his cause, fighting for human rights, activist business that he wants to keep you far from. And not for your own safety, rather, the safety of any who could come near you.

You’re a liability. You need to leave. 

It’s so quiet in the halls as you walk down the stairs, just a few hours until morning. They’ll wake soon. You want to be far gone by then. 

You’re almost surprised that the downstairs is empty. There’s usually someone who passes out on one of the couches or a pair of guys who stays up late to talk about who knows what. But it’s empty. You take this as a sign that you’re finally doing something helpful for ABK. 

You’re extra careful to lock the door on your way out. 

 

You get a call at eight in the morning. It’s from Combeferre, to your surprise, and once you get over that special shock, you ignore it. He’ll be mad at you, you know, and you’re busy trying to figure out where to go to deal with him shaming you. 

Not too long late, you get a text message. This time, it’s Johnny.

**Johnny:** why did you go? WHERE did you go? 

You consider briefly not answering, but it’s Johnny and you have to at least let him know you aren’t dead.

**Grantaire:** ill tell yhou when i get back

You don’t bother spellchecking yourself; you haven’t before and you figure you shouldn’t start now. 

**Johnny:** alex is mad. 

You laugh at that. Of course he’s mad. He’s always angry with you. You aren’t surprised at all. You ignore the message and continue walking. Around six, after three hours of wandering about, you had stumbled upon a bus stop. You were relieved to see that you had remembered your wallet, and you payed the small price to sit on the bus for a few hours until you had spotted a motel a few miles from campus. You got off and you’ve been laying in bed since. 

It’s dirty and smells like smoke and there’s a stain on the ceiling that looks like a wilting flower, but you think it suits you and you’re completely okay with watching crappy television until something better calls you. You’re glad it’s Saturday; it means you’ll be missing less days of classes. Not that it would really matter, but you’d just rather not have to break your hand trying to recopy all those notes. 

You doze off around ten, and for two hours you’re not quite asleep but not quite awake either. A little after noon, you get another round of text messages.  

**Courf:** you’re a fucking asswipe come back right now please this is so stupid youre being really stupid

**Courf:** i didnt mean that everyones just worried about you

You wonder if he’s telling the truth, but you remember that they’re supposed to be your friends so of course they care. You don’t reply.  

**Johnny:** alex is REALLY mad

You’re puzzled as to how he had escalated to ‘REALLY mad’ in just a matter of hours. You haven’t even been gone that long. You don’t reply to that either. If Alex wants to talk to you, he will. 

**Combfy:** You’re being selfish. Everyone’s worried.

You don’t exactly care much for this text. It was a fact you knew, but having it confirmed makes you uncomfortable. You don’t want to go back.

You turn your phone off and go to sleep again. 

 

It’s Monday night before you turn your phone on again. You’ve already vowed to use all the money you earned from your last paycheck on this crappy motel room until you feel like you’re ready to leave, or money runs out. It’s done you good, and you’re happy for the chance to just think. You’ve had to stop yourself from walking to the nearest bar you can find. You figure that when you do eventually go back, it would only be a further disappointment to arrive drunk. No drinking. You can’t break that promise.

When you turn on your crappy old phone, it takes at least five minutes for it to process all the missed messages. 

28 new text messages, 30 missed calls, 3 voicemails. 

You sift through the missed calls first, most from Johnny along with various other ABK boys and some from Erica. You realize you should have texted her what you were up to. You make a mental note to call her later. When you see that Alex had called twice on Sunday, you’re surprised. He’d even left a voicemail. You decide to listen later. 

15 of the missed text messages are Johnny updating you on Alex’s current mood. They range from ‘ _he’s going to kill you when you get back_ ’ to ‘ _he might be missing you_ ’. Eight are from Owen, rambling about classes and life at ABK. Matt had burned himself on the toaster, Jacob thinks he has foot in mouth disease, and Owen had nearly convinced him that it was an STD. You’re grateful for those messages. Three are from Erica, angrily asking him what this business about leaving is. The last two are from Alex, sent just a few hours earlier. You almost don’t want to look at them. 

**Alex:** You missed your lectures today. I’ve collected notes from those I know who are in your classes. 

**Alex:** Please come back. This is ridiculous. If you have a problem, you can talk to one of us about it.

Then there’s the voicemail. 

“ _I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing, but if you don’t come back soon...just come back soon, Brett. Running away isn’t solving anything and you’re not just hurting yourself._ ”

You consider replying for a long time. You don’t. You can’t stop your hands from shaking. Any ounce of longing to return has turned into nerves to go near Greek Row ever again. Instead, you call Erica. She picks up after two rings.

“ _You complete asshat. Where the_ fuck _did you get the idea to leave?_ ”

You smile. Erica was a good friend, a friend who he was grateful to have. “I have my reasons.” The truth is you can’t explain your reasons. All you know is you had to get out before your emotions ate you up. 

“ _Is it Alex? Did he kick you out again?_ ”

“No, no, no...” You sigh. “I needed to get out of there. I couldn’t handle it.”

“ _That’s not true._ ”

“It is!” You try to insist. “I couldn’t...he knows, Erica. He has to know, and I can’t handle being so... _non-existent_ to him. To everyone there. I have to learn to be on my own before...” You can’t even think about it, everyone splitting up. You know that it really won’t be _everyone_ splitting up. Mostly just you. Only you. When you aren’t bound to them by fraternity, they’ll have no reason to remain your friend. You worry about never seeing them again, you lose sleep over it. You tell yourself to get over it, and that’s why you ended up at a crappy motel over the weekend. 

“ _You know they love you, right? How, after all this time...you can’t honestly think...oh, Brett, you’re so fucked up in the head._ ” Erica sighs. “ _Just go back home, okay? Talk to them. Please._ ”

You tell her you will.

You still don’t think about packing up and heading home until Wednesday afternoon. You do it slowly, thinking through every step and wondering if maybe you should just run away forever. You reject that thought. You need your friends, and this little trip has only made that heartbreakingly clear. 

When you do end up back on the steps of ABK, it’s almost midnight. You wonder if you should knock, or just walk in. You remember that this is your home. You punch in the code for the lock and walk in. 

Everyone’s eating in the kitchen as you put your bag down. You decide to just poke your head in and get some real food, having been eating nothing but chips and crappy sub sandwiches from a sketchy gas station store for the past five days. 

There’s a moment before everyone notices you’re there as you sneak behind the kitchen table and into the fridge. Johnny is playing around with Owen’s hair. Owen is trying to feel up an oblivious Matt, who’s more focused on Combeferre’s medical horror stories that a professor told him. Jacob is pale white, no doubt trembling at these tales, while Bossuet laughs at him, in good humor, he insists, and pats his back. Alex is absentmindedly picking at a salad. Bahorel is trying to get Feuilly to arm wrestle with him, but Feuilly refuses on the basis that he knows he’ll lose. 

You feel a rush of content as you realize you’re home. 

Johnny is the first to notice. 

“Brett!” He exclaims, hands dropping from Owen’s hair at once. He stands quickly, almost knocking his chair over. “We were so worried!”

Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at you. You suddenly wish you had just slipped to your room. You’re afraid they’re going to lash out. The only one not looking at you is Alex. He’s looking straight forward. 

“Where the fuck have you _been_?” Owen says. Combeferre looks stern. Joly asks if you’ve been ill and just keeping it from everyone to protect them from painful emotions. You stare at him for a moment, forgetting how much you missed this house.

“I’m sorry.” You find yourself bowing your head. “I was in need of a...break.” 

There’s a pause. 

“A break from what?” Matt asks at last.

You don’t realize that your gaze has shifted to Alex at first, but you quickly look away again in fear that someone might notice. “It’s personal.”

Alex looks up at this. “It’s personal, is it? So personal you couldn’t even tell us where you were staying?” 

Everyone seems to grow uncomfortable at the fight that might break out. They know why you really left, or at least they suspect. You feel tired. 

“I’m sorry.” You say again. “I figured it wouldn’t matter.”

Alex stares at you hotly. You feel burned under the gaze. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I could get in for not keeping track of the men in this house?”

“Oh, of course, I forgot.” You grow angry suddenly. You should’ve expected this from Alex. It isn’t you he’s worried about after all. You can’t say you’re surprised. “Next time I find myself in need of getting away from _you_ , I’ll make sure the entire campus knows you’re not to blame.” 

“That’s not what I meant. Stop making things up. You always over dramatize things.” He stands, thinking his height over you might level things out. It doesn’t. 

“Making things up?” You laugh, but without humor. “I’m sorry, my noble frat president, that I didn’t make a formal request to leave. Is that what you would have wanted me to do? ‘Dear Alexander, I’m requesting leave on behalf of the fact that I’m too goddamn in love with you and it physically hurts me to live under the same roof as you!’. Would _that_ be alright?” You don’t know why, but you’re yelling. You’ve scared Johnny into tears, but you find yourself not caring. You’re angry and you want Alex to see. You’re done with hiding away. The boys look highly uncomfortable, but too afraid to move. Matt is wide eyed, Owen doesn’t seem to know where to look. Combeferre is no doubt angry with you, but you don’t want to go there. 

“I would never force you to admit something you don’t want to.” Alex doesn’t look angry, or upset. Just disappointed. Always disappointed.

“Of course not.” 

“Stop it. I’m not in the wrong here.” 

“Oh. And I am?”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Of course. Even when I leave, I fuck up entirely.” You sigh and turn to walk upstairs, but Johnny mistakes this for you leaving again. He doesn’t want you to leave. He loves his friends almost as much as you do, but he never hurts them the same. He’s always been worthy, though.

“Brett, no!” Johnny cries. He looks to Alex and turns red, with anger or embarrassment you can’t tell. You leave the room before you can hear anymore. You’ve already said too much. 

You laugh to yourself because you should’ve stayed at that crappy motel with the stain on the ceiling instead of coming back. But you know you couldn’t have lasted another day without them. It was a game of push and pull, with them always pushing and you always pulling. 

You lie on your bed, the clean ceiling refreshing and the soft sheets a relief. You want to sleep the rest of the week off, but you know they won’t let you. One of them will make you go to class. So you stare at the ceiling, wishing you were someone else entirely. If you were Combeferre, Alex would respect you. If you were anyone else, he would respect and love you like a brother. But maybe that would hurt even more. There’s muffled shouts downstairs and you wonder for the hundredth time why you came back. 

Johnny rushes in a few minutes later. He’s red all over, his eyes watery and hair a bit more wild than normal. 

“Don’t leave.”

You sit up. He sounds edgy and nervous, which only makes you edgy and nervous as well. You never wanted to upset Johnny like this. He doesn’t deserve any more stress than necessary. 

“I wasn’t planning on it.” You say slowly. “Is everything okay? It’s not like the house went into chaos when I left.”

Johnny thinks for a moment. “I was scared.” He says. “Alex was so...you don’t understand, Brett. He was just as scared as I was, we all were. He thought you went back to drinking. You wouldn’t call him back or anything. I’ve never seen him like that. Five days...he thought it was his fault.”

“It sort of was.” You say, although you don’t mean it entirely. It’s not like Alex purposely made you fall in love with him. It’s not like he knew that your heart hurt and your stomach ached and you felt tired of it all because of him. 

“But it wasn’t. He didn’t know.”

“I know.” And you do. And you hare yourself for blaming him when he’s done nothing wrong, nothing but accept you without reason. But you feel awful. And you just want to sleep. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Did you expect it to?”

You want to say that you expected him to maybe love you a little more, but that sounds desperate and you’ve already used enough of your pitiful despair for a year. 

“I need a drink.” You say for the first time in months.

“No.” Johnny says firmly. “No, you need Alex.”

“I need Alex.” You agree. 

So it’s really no surprise that Johnny disappears and Alex is there less than half an hour later. It reminds you of a somewhat similar situation. Johnny seemed to always be the middle man for Alex and you. You wonder if he ever gets sick of it, but then you remember those rare mornings where only you, Alex, and Johnny are awake early enough for breakfast and Johnny stares at you two with stars in his eyes. He dreams bigger than you do.

Alex sits on Johnny’s bed. You suddenly miss him again, though he’s right there. You want to touch him to make sure he’s real, that you aren’t going to wake up in that motel. For the first time, you’re completely glad you returned. 

“You left.” 

“I left.” You try not to look at him, but you find you can’t look away. He looks tired. You sympathize. 

“Because of me?”

You can’t answer. It’s not _just_ because of him. But most of it is because of him. You wonder if falling asleep at this very moment would be frowned upon. You figure it won’t work well as an escape method. So instead, you talk. 

“Don’t you understand, Alex? I’ve been with you since Freshman year. Maybe that’s not as long as Combeferre, but it’s the longest I’ve ever stayed by anyone. I never loved anything. I never felt strongly for _anything_ , Alex, and then I show up at college and I meet you and...I felt something. It was like...it was like you woke me up. I was scared, I was so fucking scared. I was a useless art student, wasn’t I? I still am. But now I have friends, at least I think I do. I have ABK, and I have something to look forward to. But we’re graduating soon. I knew it wouldn’t last. I know that after we graduate, even though some of the boys will stay behind, no one will talk to me much. Especially not you. You’ll go off to Africa or something and build houses and fight for freedom of the people. You have a purpose. But without you, I don’t have a purpose, you see? That’s why I left. I needed to try and at least exist without you. All of you. And I failed myself. After graduation, what am I to do? Maybe I’ll teach, but I’ll be miserable. I’m always going to be miserable without my friends.”

Alex is quiet for a long, long time after that. He’s looking at you with a swirl of emotions that you’re too tired to try and figure out. It makes you look away. You hate that look. 

“We aren’t going to leave you behind just because we won’t all be living together.” Alex starts. “We would never do that to you, Brett. We care about you. And watching you tear yourself apart like this, it’s not fun for any of us. Least of all me. And to know that somehow, it’s my fault...” 

“It’s not your fault.”

“You love me.”

“That’s hardly your fault.” You mutter. You don’t like being reminded. 

He crosses the room to sit on your bed. He stares at you for a moment. You’re sitting against your headboard with a stack of pillows behind you, and for some reason you feel uncomfortable. His gaze hurts. 

Then suddenly, yet all at once slow, he inches forward and cautiously lays his head on your chest. You don’t know what to do with your arms, you don’t know if he wants you to touch him. So you don’t. You watch him as he winds his arms around your torso and looks up, almost looking apologetic. 

“I just want to let you know.” Alex says. “You aren’t...you aren’t... _alone_.”

It’s so strange of him, so bold, that you want to cry at just how powerful the actions are. But you don’t. Instead, you tentatively wind your arms around him as well. 

“You’ll never be alone, Brett.” The words should sound awkward coming from Alex, but they don’t. They sound genuine and that alone makes your mind reel. You bury your face in his hair, not knowing if it’s okay but doing it because chances like these are so rare. 

“You already know I love you.” You say, because you can’t say anything else. And the words are true. He’s known for months. 

“I do.” He says. The words seem to hang in mid air and you want him to say anything else to relieve this sort of awkward air. “You mean a great deal to me.” 

It makes you feel lighter. 

“I don’t deserve that.”

“Don’t say that.” He says. You want to suddenly spill everything again, shout to the heavens how you’ll never live up to his impossibly high expectations of you. But you don’t. Instead, you keep your face hidden in his hair and your hands tight around his torso. To your surprise, he doesn’t try and break away. “You’re capable of being a great man. You will be a great man. Look how far you’ve come in four years.”

He sits up a bit so his face is level with yours. You lift your head to meet his eyes before dropping your gaze to your lap. His eyes search your face, a search you don’t care much for. 

“You used to believe in nothing. Now you believe in your friends.”

You don’t correct him that most of all you believe in him because you know that he’s not wrong. You do believe in your friends, almost as much as you believe in Alex. His hands rest at your neck. 

You’re not expecting it, which is strange since it all happens slowly, step by step. He tilts your face so finally you’re looking at him. You want to run away, but never leave this moment all at the same time. He looks to your lips, then back to your eyes. He’s not sure whether this is okay, but that seems ridiculous to you. You don’t want to rush him so you wait. 

He leans his forehead against yours, and you nearly stop breathing for a long, long moment. You’re scared, so so scared and you can’t place why. 

“I could love you.” He whispers, almost as if he doesn’t want you to hear. Your Adam’s apple bobs as you gulp. 

It takes him a little longer before he finally kisses you, and it’s so heartbreakingly wonderful that you have to pull away after only a few seconds. 

“Was that wrong?” He asks. You fear you’ve lost your chance.

“No, I...I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that to make me feel better.” You look away. “Or anything.”

“I promise that’s not why.” 

You look to him again and you can see he’s not lying. You reach for him, hands cradling his cheeks, and he’s so beautiful you want to cry for a million years. He places his hands over yours and leans forward again.

You kiss for longer this time, but it’s not an easy kiss. It’s scared, it’s tentative, it’s slow. You seem to be asking for permission to even be near him, though he’s the one who’s kissing you. It’s beautiful, yet terrifying, but Alex was beautiful and terrifying. You’re afraid, even more afraid than before, because you still feel as though this all must end. You don’t tell him this, but he knows because he knows you. 

“You’re always looking for an end, Brett.” Alex says, once he pulls away. “Have you ever found a beginning?”

And with Alex impossibly settled in your arms, a feat you swore you’d never accomplish, you have. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've feel like I've written quite a lot of E/R so if anyone else has a pairing they want to see and you're gettin' tired of these folk, lemme know and I can write it!


End file.
